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Five in the Chamber
Riders on a sandstorm... Chapter 1 On the northern desert plains of the continent Braze, a herd of gargantuan metal elephants strolled across the harsh sands upon towering metal legs. 100 feet above the ground they stood, the blood red dusk reflected in their rusted chrome outer casings. They were transport vehicles, akin to steel ships, their backs a compact collection of long wooden transport crates and their trunks searchlights that pierced through the low hanging sand storms. From afar, you might see what you believe to be insects patrolling along their flat spines, but they were its crew, men in identical sets of plated armour, their features hidden behind bronze domed helmets. They held to their side long black rods, hollow on one end. The crew's duty was to manage orders on the transport vessels, or Gajah, and to make sure no-one threatened the safety of the vehicle or its cargo. Of course, another duty of theirs is to prevent stowaways, a duty that one of the Gajah's Crew had unfortunately failed, five times over. Five people sat in a cargo crate, illuminated by an electric-powered lamp, which flickered most often when the Gajah carrying them hit a rough spot. Leaning against one wall, a young man played a lute, his lack of musical expertise betrayed by the occasional missed note. The young man's name was Tyran, and his somewhat poor playing had not deterred the absent-minded cocky smile on his lips. He stopped playing for a moment, to brush a lock of dark hair behind one of his pointed ears. “I suspect I have some way to go before I can start wooing Princesses.” He concluded out loud. “You mean like our dear Princess Seava?” asked a girl opposite him. Whilst Tyran wore a dusty cloak and extremely wide rimmed hat, the girl was dressed in garbs of white and silver that made her glisten in the yellow light of the crate. The silver neckscarf around her mouth and the white mask across her eyes almost entirely covered her face, and only her chestnut brown hair tied back broke the illusion that she might have even had a body beneath her garments. The girl had a birth name, of course, but as with the regional tradition with Bards, she had been going by another for some time. “Are you serious, Whisperer? You've met our dear white haired ally, can you imagine marrying her? No wonder her parents seem to be having such difficulty marrying her off.” Tyran replied. A second girl in the corner scoffed at the remark, but Tyran wilfully ignored it. The girl, Anya, was not in such a light-hearted mood, although this was not an exceptional circumstance. Her short-cut platinum blonde hair framed a pretty face, but her cold gaze was sharpened by the thin scar that ran horizontally across her eyes and her face. The wound that left the scar had once blinded her, but these days such things could be undone with magic. The memories of what she lost the day she received it, however, could not be healed quite as easily. Despite not even being twenty years old, she had the cynicism of a woman much older than she was. She sat with a whetstone, sharpening one of the hand-crafted daggers that lined the inside of her granite-coloured jacket. “You best be careful Anya,” said the Lizardfolk in the corner. “The sparks from sharpening your blades could be a concern for safety, especially as we’re currently in a large wooden box.” Anya didn’t reply, but lessened the force of her whetstone regardless. The Lizardfolk, Zade, was doing work of his own. Tinkering with a small bronze clockwork beetle, a thin screwdriver manipulated with surprising grace between his long, clawed fingers. Despite his imposing appearance and large frame, he wore a light waistcoat and dark trousers to go with it, with a leather belt at his waist holstering two revolvers. His body was covered in brown scales and his reptilian green eyes conveyed no ferocity. His voice carried a distinguished accent. “What are you making, Zade?” enquired the fifth member of the group. A boy of fourteen sat next to Zade, his dark hair a mess and his traveller’s cloak too big for his thin frame. His blue eyes focused intently on Zade’s contraption as he sat, holding his knees as if protecting himself from the outside world. “Now obviously we cannot risk using magic inside Braze,” explained Zade enthusiastically. “This is a little experiment in deterrence. The beetle, when activated, should travel through the air on these wings-” Zade tapped a claw on the back of his invention, where a set of gold-lined insect wings sat unmoving. “-And attach itself to an immediate surface before delivering a stunning discharge of electrical energy. Think like lightning, except stored conveniently in a liquid capsule of my own design.” The Lizardfolk could barely hold back his glee at the boy’s amazement. “You should teach Aldo how to make your trinkets,” responded Tyran to the explanation. “My cousin could use some of your talent!” The boy Aldo looked at Zade expectantly. “Tyran, my work is not talent. It’s science and logic, and talent is for artists and musicians.” Sighed Zade with a hint of impatience. The Whisperer smiled at the latter remark, though no-one saw it. “But I could teach him if he’s willing.” A response was not given, for the conversation was cut short as a slam hit the front door. A gravelly voice shouted at them. “OPEN UP! WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” The five froze, urgent glances passed between them all. A moment passed. Something cracked against wood with a heavy thud that echoed into the crate. “How did they detect us?” Hissed Anya. She was quickly stashing her sharpened knives into her inner jacket. “I don’t know!” Replied Tyran. Silently he tossed the lute to the Whisperer, who caught it in one hand. Tyran’s hand instinctively brushed against the hilt of the short sword that lay in wait at his hip, his fingers dancing along the iron pommel as if coaxing an animal. Another splintering of wood. Shouts from the other side. “Well this is an inconvenience i I might say,” Muttered Zade. “I was hoping not to be killed today.” The dullness of the wooden slams were fading now, They had merely seconds left. “No-one is going to die,” Announced Tyran quietly. “Follow my lead. I have a plan.” Aldo nodded assuredly at Tyran’s words. Anya glared at him but didn’t intervene. A loud crack and the front of the wooden crate exploded inwards. Dust and splintered spread across the floor as the burning red sunlight glared across the floor, casting menacing shadows from the armed guards blocking the new doorway. The electric lamp in the center of the crate looked almost without light compared to the evening sun. Six armed figures stood there. Two of them carried some sort of mechanical battering ram, a large tube of metal with inner layers, with steam coming off it from some internal heat. The armour they wore consisted of a padded white body suit, with layers of chainmail visible at the joints. The chest and helmet were a single piece, a bronze piece of armour that completely hid the head between a featureless dome, and guarded the shoulders with large pauldrons. The figures were completely without identity, and armed with weapons that resembled black tubes. The first one pointed a thick finger towards the group. “You are under arrest for unauthorised boarding of a Government vessel!” He barked. There was a moment of silence. “Let me tell you a tale of great tragedy and glorious purpose,” Began Tyran. Zade groaned. Whisper murmured, “we’re doing this again?” “Sons and daughters of Nobles are we,” he lamented dramatically. “Our parents slain we were forced to flee.” He pirouetted on the heel of his left foot, bowing as he turned in a strange movement. “Our homes burned by Titans of Braze…” The foremost Guard pointed his tube weapon at Tyran but continued to watch the eerie display. He had not noticed that the Whisperer was playing a chord on her lute for each line of Tyran’s recital. “And we shall not rest until your land pays.” Tyran’s short sword was drawn suddenly, the tip of its wavy blade pointed towards the six guards. “Night Legion, take the initiative!” He cried out. In this moment, it was as if time slowed down, for many things happened within seconds. The Guard who pointed his tube weapon towards Tyran twisted the back section, causing a crack which spat out a vicious jagged blade, fashioned almost like a talon or claw. It propelled out with great speed, but Tyran had already predicted it, and deflected it with the flat of his sword. The jagged blade redirected towards the roof of the crate, where it embedded with a thunk. Anya quickly ducked as the shot fired, moving with instinctual precision as she flicked knives between her forefingers towards one of the other Guards. More jagged projectiles were fired, Zade ducking to avoid one which narrowly missed his face. He drew his revolvers and fired a flurry of bullets, puncturing the Guard who fired at him like a pin cushion. There was more commotion as the Whisperer span on the spot, drawing the neckscarf from her face and stretching it outwards. The scarf elongated quickly, wrapping around the forefront Guard’s helmet and embedding itself with a sharp thin blade at the end. With a sharp pull she pulled him to the ground as another blade fired passed her. Tyran moved forward, his blade puncturing breast and bone. Anya’s jacket was sliced across the shoulder by a blade. One of the Guard’s swung his weapon, the black tube doubling as a slick club. Somewhere someone broke a kneecap. A screech of metal. A gasp. Suddenly all was silent. Five bodies lay on the ground. Tyran stood, blood sliding down his short sword. Anya stood, daggers in hands. Zade was mid-way through reloading one of his Revolvers. The Whisperer was, bizarrely, playing her lute whilst adjusting the scarf back over her mouth. And Aldo was in the doorway facing inwards, a Guard behind him and his tube-club held tightly around his neck. “Anyone moves and I’ll pull very hard.” The man behind the domed helmet growled. No-one moved. Aldo was breathing fast, tears in his eyes. Tyran dropped his sword, but looked wide-eyed at Aldo. The tears in the boy’s eyes suddenly glistened violet as a purple hue filled his pupils before spreading outwards. Aldo’s eyed were giving off a bright purple glow, a mist rising from them like smoke from a fire. “What are you staring at-” Shouted the Guard, but he never got to finish his sentence. A dark purple mass gathered maybe a meter in the air behind the Guard. Aldo was frozen, locked like in a trance. The mass formed itself into a knife, which burst forward as if cutting the air, before cutting through metal, then flesh and bone. The Guard give a rigid shudder and a gurgle before collapsing in a heap, to join the others. “The boy’s Gift has awakened, and with mathematically impeccable timing!” Remarked Zade after the moment had passed. Aldo’s eyes cleared up suddenly and he gasped in surprise. “We might want to take the least bloodstained outfits from those men,” Observed Tyran quietly. “We can use them to get into the city. See? It all worked out just fine. Well done, Cousin.” He nodded at Aldo, who was still dazed from his unexpected display of innate magical power. Whisperer wasn’t listening, as she was watching Anya tear the helmet off one of the Guards, revealing a tanned woman with braided hair. The woman was coughing up blood, the result of the knife sticking out of her belly. Anya pulled her up to her legs, before slamming her against the wall of the crate. “Who commands the Titans?!” She demanded coldly. She pushed the knife in the woman’s chest, and she cried out in pain. “Who commands the Titans of Braze? I need a name!” She pushed the knife once more, provoking a similar reaction. Tyran looked at her with uncharacteristic sadness in his eyes. “Anya, I don’t think-” “I don’t know, I just patrol the Gajah!” Sobbed the dying woman. “I don’t work in the Citadel!” Anya growled in frustration, and slit the woman’s throat with a single movement. She turned away, her platinum hair glistening with droplets of crimson. Tyran turned away in sadness. “Come on, we don’t want to wait until the next patrol comes through.” He sighed. ___________________________________________ The Gajah pulled up at the Sand Docks outside the Capital City of Braze. No-one paid attention to the departing crew, the faceless domed patrolmen with their unusual gun-batons. The gates of the Docks closed shut to avoid the sand storms that came at that time of night. Five of the Patrolmen would later break off from the group and travel down an inconspicuous path, but no-one would notice. No-one, of course, except for the two figures who had been following their moves closely. Two cloaked figures, one in black and one in red. They had their own agenda in the city, and the self-titled Night Legion would surely play into their plans. They slipped into obscurity just as their targets did, unseen, unpursued. ___________________________________________ Some other time… The five of them stopped wearily for a break. The winter was harsh, their lips chapped and the snow soft on their numb feet. They had travelled so far to get here, but the stone tower that greeted them brought them great glee. “This may be the most foolish thing I have done yet,” Concluded an exhausted Tyran. “But if they cannot help us, no-one can. They are our last hope.” They observed the sight before them. Not quite what they were expecting, the rectangular Tower had a stone wall around it, and a moat surrounded that. A flat stone bridge extended across towards them. “Let’s not wait.” Said Aldo. The others silently agreed and stepped on to the bridge, and entered Starhold. Chapter 2 From an alleyway at a street square, the Night Legion watched in horror as a terrified woman was accosted by a 9-foot tall stone and steel Golem. The construct had a gaunt face, almost a death mask, with eye slits that glowed like blue fire. Its body was plated with metal armour, with bolts and arcane symbols scattered across its surface. Glowing blue sigils on the palms of its large three fingered hands let off a sapphire mist, one of which was pointed down threateningly at the woman. “A street-level Titan,” Muttered Tyran. “The rumours were indeed true.” He glanced up to a tall towering structure, a stone tower with a huge dark silver orb at the top. As he had been told before making the journey to the Citadel, the high families of Braze suppressed magic in their populations with beacons that emitted a permanent Antimagic field. The effect of Antimagic, conveniently, did not inhibit magical Constructs, allowing their rule and force to be absolute with the enforcement of their unstoppable Warforged soldiers. No-one else spoke at the scene, as the sight of the Golem was the first time they had seen such a machine for six years, since the day they lost their families and homes. They witnessed silently as the Golem dragged the screaming woman away silently, the townspeople at the square watching on in helpless horror. When the commotion had settled, Anya moved them on, avoiding main streets so as not to draw attention. They had arrived in the Citadel a few days earlier. Since then, they had remained hidden, knowing that it was likely that the authorities had discovered the bodies of the Patrolmen they had slain and were looking for five runaways. They had kept to the sandstone slums of the outer Citadel, knowing that finding five among the countless masses of the City’s lower-class would be extremely difficult. Getting to the inner circle of the Capital would be more difficult as to their displeasure, anything closer than the outer circle was for Humans only. To the dismay of the Night Legion, it seemed that on top of the oppressive regime, Braze was also partial to the familiar racial discrimination littered throughout the world. The Non-Human District lay at the fringe of the Citadel, a smudge beneath a beautiful painted sky. The swirling magenta dusk made the slums look even more abhorrent, a feeling of disgust that continued when the five entered the area to quiet stares of distrust among the locals. A humanoid treefrog eyed them with hostility as it hobbled past, a brown shawl around their back and a limp in one of their slim green legs. “We need to find the shadiest bar in town,” informed Tyran quietly as they made their way through the District. “That’s always been the best place for information.” “I think you have a romanticised perception of shady town bars,” replied the Whisperer. “The only thing we’ll learn in a pit like this is how to carve a man’s eyes out with a bar spoon.” “What’s the difference between a bar spoon and a regular spoon?” enquired Aldo, trailing behind but eager to join in on the conversation. “Bar spoons have longer handles and-” “Keep it down, we don’t want to draw attention.” snapped Anya. There was a brief silence. “I’ve known you all my life and I know you’ve never worked in a bar, Whisperer.” Remarked Tyran with a smile. “You don’t have to work in a bar to know these things, Tyran.” she responded. “Maybe if you had spent less time swordfighting growing up you’d know these things.” Tyran caught the playfulness in her voice. They came to the end of a dirt-pathed road, and a large building ahead of them sported a rotten wooden sign that read The Peasant & Apple. “We’re not going in there, are we?” sighed Zade, fully well knowing the answer to his question even as he spoke. Tyran gave him a grin that confirmed his suspicions. ___________________________________________ There was a large Orc at the door, but the intimidating olive-skinned man let them in once he saw Tyran’s pointed ears. To their luck, he didn’t appear to acknowledge that Aldo was probably too young to enter a Tavern like this. They entered the bar, stepping inside to feel a squelch beneath their feet as a thin layer of liquid coated the floor. “I hope that this is only spilled ale.” commented the Whisperer. They awkwardly sat down at a wooden table which had several dubious stains on the surface. Tyran stood up to go to the bar as the others shared glances. Only the Whisperer, behind her enigmatic eye mask, gave no impression of concern or worry. “I fear that Tyran has no idea what he is doing.” said Zade in a low voice. The Bartender resembled an overweight middle-aged woman, except her skin was orange-red and her hair flickered like a live flame. If it wasn’t for the magic suppression field, Tyran felt that she’d be capable of setting him alight with a single mean glance. “Good evening, Ma’m! My friends and I are travelling Chroniclers, all the way from Ashfall, who are collecting stories for a wealthy playwright. We’re trying to get to know the fascinating country that is Braze. Absorb its culture. Learn its history. Do you know anyone who’d be able to help us?” Tyran recited his introduction flawlessly, whilst also nonchalantly sliding several gold pieces across the bar. The woman glared at him for a moment, but then gestured for someone to join them. From the far end of the bar, a humongous man with a sheepskin vest and scarred, bald scalp stepped over. The barmaid nodded sharply in the direction of the table, and the man turned to look at both it and Tyran, standing there with no lack of confidence in his eyes. “Fine evening, isn’t it?” he said, grinning. The man pulled a chair up to their table, wedged awkwardly between Zade and Aldo, the latter of whom shuffled over in an attempt to nonchalantly avoid the man’s terrible odour. “Waddaya want?” He growled with some level of impatience. The man’s voice was like granite grinding against granite, and his breath was even less inviting. “There’s high families of Braze, right? We want to know all you can tell us. The culture here in the Capital, the fascinating stone patrolmen - Are they magic, by the way? I’m sure a fine individual like yourself has all the local trivia.” The man stared back. Anya sighed, and placed several gold pieces on the table, sliding them over with her forefingers. “Who manages the Titans? Names, please.” She said impatiently. The man stared for another moment. Some bar patrons left in the mean time. “Golems owned by the Salvadons.” he growled. “Biggest family. Golems managed by Vönte, not a Salvadon.” Another moment passed as Anya processed this. “This ‘Vönte’, where is he?” The man didn’t answer, but sat up from his chair. “I need details-” “Anya, don’t pester our friend.” the Whisperer added quickly in a calm voice. “I’m not gonna be around when they come,” the man muttered. He abruptly headed for the door. “When who come?!” Anya bellowed, rising to her feet. She glared furiously at Tyran. “Tell me Tyran, what was the next part in your damn plan?” “If we may...” began Zade. “Anya, I know you’ve been on edge…” Tyran said, carefully choosing his words. “I know what you’re going to say, so don’t say it.” She replied. He paused for a moment. “it’s different for you-” “Can we not-” interjected Zade. “I said don’t!” She shouted with rage. If there was anyone who hadn’t left the bar by now, they would have dropped their drinks in surprise. “You think just because I’ve had two sets of parents die on me now, that I’m even more angry than you?” She instinctively brushed her white-blonde fringe which had fallen in front of her eyes, brushing tears away in the process. Aldo looked mortified at the growing argument. “And what? You need to play the leader to make up for the fact that your mother isn’t even-” “ENOUGH!” roared Zade, rising to his feet and throwing his stool back. His intimidating form at full height was not something that the other four were used to ever seeing, the Lizardfolk normally keeping himself reserved. “Your damn bickering is going to be the end of us! If you weren’t so busy with each other, you might have realised that we’re probably about to be arrested and should have left several minutes ago!” Both Tyran and Anya stopped, their faces red and eyes full of fury. Everyone looked to the door, and back into the bar. “There’s a back exit,” said the Whisperer. “We could sneak out unseen.” They didn’t get a chance, of course. The door burst open with such a force that it was nearly torn from its hinges. Standing there was a dishevelled Elven woman that Anya recognised as having had left the bar earlier whilst they were talking to the bald man. She was pointing an accusatory finger at them to a Guard - Identified by his Steel armour and red pointed helmet. In one hand he had a tube-baton weapon like the ones that the Gajah Patrolmen had, and in the other hand rested at a sword hilt at his waist. “I suppose there would have been a bounty out for us.” murmured Zade. “Go!” he shouted, drawing his short sword. Anya instinctively reached for a pair of knives in her inner jacket, but Tyran stopped her with his spare hand, placing it on her arm. “I’ll hold them off, get my cousin out of here!” The urgency in his eyes was unexpectedly genuine. She nodded, about to say something, but decided against it and retreated to the back of the Tavern with the others. “You there! Show me your citizenship papers or you are under arrest!” shouted the Guard as he pointed his tube-baton at Tyran, who considered the situation for a moment. “Let me tell you a tale of great tragedy and glorious purpose...” he began. ___________________________________________ The back of the bar did indeed have an exit, which lead into a narrow street, the cobbled path winding off behind many large buildings into the distance. The remaining four surveyed the way for their next move. “We need to find a way to somewhere we can lose them,” spoke Zade. “There will be backup in no time at all.” He was right, as a jagged shuriken-like piece of metal fired from behind, penetrating his thick stony scales and burying itself deep in his shoulder. Aldo gasped. Zade collapsed to his knees. “Oh dear, I appear to have been shot. Non-lethal poison, judging by my current sensation. Don’t worry, they want us alive. Try not to get caught.” His words slurred towards the end as he slumped forwards, unconscious. The Whisperer almost broke her calm demeanour, but regained her composure and bent down to draw one of Zade’s revolvers from its holster. “What the hell are you doing?” shouted Anya. “I need this more than he does right now. He still has one, don’t worry.” the Whisperer replied flatly. “What about Tyran? We can’t leave Zade here!” Aldo cried out. “We have to go,” Anya replied, beginning to run down the alleyway. Aldo and Whisperer followed. “We need to get away so we can rescue the others afterwards, okay?” She drew one of her knives, handing it to Aldo as they went. He stared in surprise at his unexpected gift. “Just in case you need to.” reassured Whisperer with a gleeful tone. The two of them suddenly ran into Anya’s outstretched arm as she stopped them. Something blocked their escape, a 9-foot tall figure of steel and stone. Its glowing eyes brought back all too familiar memories for the three of them. In its eyes, Anya felt the memories of her adoptive parents be taken from her just like the ones who first raised her. Whisperer saw the immovable force, an obstacle that even her tricks and songs could not mystify. For Aldo, it was the last memory he had of his family - His aunt, tears in her eyes as she gave him a traveller’s cloak and telling him to run. He hadn’t thought of his aunt much in these last few years, though the aunt in question was, of course, not Tyran’s mother. Tyran’s mother had left when they was young and Aldo had little to no memories of her. Their memories came and left in little over a moment, and in that moment the Golem lifted an open palm, its glowing eyes burning without emotion. Chapter 3 Anya whispered, “Run.” And so they did. The Golem burst after them, its size too great too fit in the walled alleyway but too strong to be stopped by it. Its shoulders tore through the stone walls as if they were air, throwing clouds of sand and dust cascading down through the alley as the three remaining members of the Night Legion made their frantic escape. They reached the point where they had left the Tavern but were surrounded. Anya saw Zade being dragged off by two guards in red helmets, visors down and their expressions concealed. She clutched her knives but two more guards already had the upper hand, both brandishing tube-batons at her as the Golem approached with alarming speed from behind. Aldo was frozen in terror, but the Whisperer kept up her guise of confidence, despite the sweat that made her hair cling to her face. Anya shot the Bard a look of desperation and the Whisperer responded silently, drawing a silk pouch from her now dust-stained white coat. “Don’t move!” a Guard shouted. The Whisperer froze, softly opening her hand as the pouch fell to the ground with a quiet pat. The drawstring unfurled from the impact, and a rising mist flooded from the opening. Had Zade been conscious, he would have correctly observed that this was a chemical reaction, the powder reacting with the air to give off light. In person, this appeared like the Whisperer had flooded the alleyway with pure sunlight, the bright mist blossoming around their feet and rising upwards as the Bard grabbed the hands of her two cohorts and lept through the Tavern’s back door whilst the distraction held. Through the streets they ran, keeping low, out of sight. Not a word was said between the three of them for several hours as they darted between streets and river banks. The red helmeted patrols were out in large numbers, all armed and on the lookout for the three outlaws. Aldo thought back to the tales he was told as a child, of daring rogues and adventurers who broke the law. Had she still been alive, he considered his mother probably wouldn’t approve of him being on the run for breaking laws. Though being on the run for attempting to avenge her death was arguably a noble venture. They came to a stop sometime later, the skies an inky black and scattered with stars. Anya signalled to a large stone bridge over a dry river bank, and they rested beneath it. Aldo fell asleep almost instantly, his head in his knees drawn up close. Anya and the Whisperer, however, did not sleep. Their stomachs were empty but adrenaline was keeping them awake and on edge. There was a silence between them for a while, until Anya spoke. “Tomorrow we’ll scout out their holding cells” she said simply, her voice quiet but strained. Even Anya had her limits. “It will work out. Do not worry.” replied the Whisperer. “How can you say that?” asked Anya, her voice cracking from exhaustion. “If Tyran hadn’t been so goddamn headstrong we could have done all this quietly. He always does this, it’s just like the Nymph Camp all over again…” “You lied, earlier in the Tavern.” “What?” “You aren’t cold towards him because you resent that his mother survived. You’re cold towards him because you still love him.” Anya didn’t respond, but absent mindedly ran her finger along the scar across her face. Whisperer put her arm around Anya who rested her head on her shoulder in return. They finally gave in to sleep, resting under the bridge as the Guards looked into the morning for the three fugitives. ___________________________________________ “Wake up, people are coming!” The Whisperer groggily opened her eyes, adjusting her mask which had slipped down her face during the night. “What’s going on?” Aldo was standing up, panic in his eyes as he turned to look behind them along the dry river bank. Anya rose stiffly also, and the two of them saw the oncoming patrol squad. “Red hats.” Anya croaked. “We have a name for them now?” replied Whisperer. Anya didn’t respond to the morning sarcasm. A blur shimmered through the air with a whistle and a tube-baton blade pounded into the ground by the Whisperer’s feet. “They’re firing at us? How improper.” she remarked, standing up and wielding her lute. More whistles passed and the Whisperer moved just in time, the metal barb screaming past her head and missing her by inches as she advanced fowards. She threw a small pouch into the clearing ahead of her, this time a black expanding smoke flowing out to hide her position. Closer now, she heard the shouts of the guards ahead and a scream from behind her, likely Anya being hit with one of the barbs. Now running into the cloud of smoke, which had expanded so fast it was now touching both sloped edges of the bank, she dived forward, rolling and landing in a crouched position. Holding her lute firmly under her right arm, she placed her left hand on the angled head of the instrument and pulled it back, clicking into place against the neck. A guard stumbled close to her. She pointed the now flat hollowed neck of the instrument towards him and strummed across the strings. A deafening bang accompanied a flash of burning light from the end of the Whisperer’s concealed firearm, the Guard close thrown spinning into the air before landing with a sickening thump. However, the muzzle flash had given her position in the cloud away and the surviving Guards fired in her general direction. She kept low, rolling out the way as the space where she was a second before was punctured multiple times with jagged rounds. There was another thump as a body, realising that the Guards had probably shot one of their own by accident. She spotted another panicked guard and fired again, throwing the figure back as their armour was shredded within a moment as the metal pellets exploded through it. More whistles in the smoke now, and the Whisperer winced as one scratched her forearm, glancing past her but close enough to tear her upper sleeve and cut her. She felt the cold numbness of something spreading from the wound, and she quickly processed that the blades were drugged. Judging by how fast she saw the huge Zade drop from being shot, she calculated that despite not being directly hit, she didn’t have long at all. She had one round left in her lute gun, but also had some other weapons on her body. Her concentration slipping as the drug cycled through her body, but wasn’t ready to give up just yet. How many more Guards were there? She fumbled with her white boot, drawing a long sharpened knitting needle out. She hazily remembered buying this from a lovely traveller girl… What was her name? A shout suddenly brought her to her senses as a Guard swung a tube-baton at her head, but she blocked it with her lute. The force was unexpectedly enough to throw her to the floor, as her muscles began to lose strength. She suddenly lost her breath as an armoured fist slammed into her chest, and her vision faded. The last thing she saw before passing out was the terrifying tall stone figure standing over her, its glowing blue eyes and mouth piercing through the black smoke that curled around her. I hope you have a plan Tyran, she thought. From a distance, two cloaked figures watched the events unfold. The figure in the scarlet cloaked turned to the other as if to say something to the figure in black, but decided against it. Instead he just tugged his hood closer over his face, the only visible features of his visage being two yellow glowing eyes, like fireflies in the night. ___________________________________________ The Night Legion were all together once more, chained into a dark steel crate that was moving towards an unknown destination. Tyran’s nose was bloodied and left eye was swollen and bruised, trophies from his losing skirmish in the Tavern. Only Aldo was unharmed. The Whisperer faded in and out of consciousness, seeing Tyran with a rare look of defeat on his face. ___________________________________________ Tyran woke up with a splash of freezing cold water. He screamed in pain, his eye stinging incredibly painfully as the icy water dripped down his shaking body. His vision was blurred, but he could see he was alone except for a figure in a red helmet on the other side of a table in front of him. His sword was laid out on the table, along with various other belongings of his. He tried to move, but realised his arms were chained to the chair between his legs. “Who are you?” The figure asked. His voice felt so far away. “Where did you all come from? Are you assassins? You aren’t leaving this facility, but if you co-operate-” “Vönte.” Tyran coughed. “What?” “Bring Vönte here. I’ll tell him everything. You have nothing to lose.” The Guard stood motionless for a moment, before walking away. Tyran slipped into unconsciousness once more. Chapter 4 “You and your friends have caused quite a ruckus for us, boy.” Tyran’s interrogation room had a floating lamp, hovering in the air like a firefly. The orb gave off a sickly white light and a dull hum of a propeller spinning to hold it in place. It cast light down upon Tyran’s belongings, which were laid out neatly on the table in front of him. His wide hat (won in a game of cards), his short sword (a gift for saving a wealthy armourer from his irate Harpy ex-wife) and the various other trinkets and documents that he had gathered in the six years of wandering. His face still stung, his blue-black hair clinging to his face from the water and sweat. At the other end of the table was a visually imposing figure. A tall man, tanned skin and black hair cut short, with a tidy goatee on his chin. He wore a red soldier’s coat with various medals at the breast. He looked as old as perhaps 40, and the dignified way he stood was formal and militaristic. The most striking feature of the man, however, was his mechnical left arm. Black pipes and gears were visible at his shoulder, where his coat cut short. “You’re Vönte?” Tyran asked. The man glared at him, analysing him for a moment, before responding. “Captain Vönte. You asked for me, after being responsible for the deaths of many of my officers. You have nothing giving away who you work for, but you’ve clearly had training. Some of my men saw you fight with a sword in the monster’s Tavern where we picked you up. Said you were good. Tell me, who trained you?” Tyran stretched his neck, his muscles stiff. “My father.” he said casually. “I would wager,” began Vönte, as he started to pace in the office. Tyran’s eye was drawn to behind the Captain, as he saw something else just out of the lamp’s radius. Was someone else in the room? “I would wager that you’re the insurgents that the Royal family of South Ashfall sent after us. I have a duty to protect the High Families of this land, you see. I have eyes and ears everywhere. I knew they would send someone after us, though I expected an attack that was more… Co-ordinated. The King and Queen of South Ashfall are dead, of course. We could not let that slide.” Tyran’s eyes widened in surprise. His parents were friends with the King and Queen, and now they were dead? These monsters killed people so off-handedly. “Drink this.” Vönte placed a glass of unknown contents in front of Tyran. There was enough slack in the chains binding him at the wrist for him to reach it. “Why would I?” “It’s antidote, boy. The Senjata drug is still in your system, and I need you clear minded.” “The what?” “Senjata. My soldier’s barb guns. You were shot with one in the shoulder.” “I was calling them Gun-batons, personally.” Vönte didn’t respond to this remark. Tyran waited a moment, but decided to take the drink. As he took a sip, he felt his full senses returning to him. His eye suddenly hurt a lot more, his shoulder flushed with feeling and soreness as the numbness left from the point where he was shot. His vision fully returned also, and he realised that on the far side of the room there was indeed another person on a chair. He could hear a low, quiet breathing. What did Vönte have planned? “So instead of asking you,” the Captain continued. “I thought to bring someone else to you, then maybe we can get to the bottom of this so I can get some damn sleep and we can execute you and your team.” He walked towards the chair and pushed it forward, into the light. Tyran gasped with horror. “A friend of yours?” Vönte said coldly. “I thought my hunch was right.” The girl on the chair was unconscious, bound to the iron chair with a thin chain. Her head lolled forward and her dress was scorched and torn, but Tyran would recognise her from a mile away. Her white hair, tipped with blue like it was the sea itself, gave her identity away. “Oh, Princess.” he said, sadly. ___________________________________________ “I wonder if it bleeds like a normal person. It certainly dresses like one.” Zade was chained down, his guns, tools, waistcoat and satchel all laid out on the table and away from his grasp. Two red helmeted guards were in the iron walled room with him, the first one twisting a combat knife into a scale on his back. Zade winced in pain, the guard cackling as he did so. “It’s so funny, how the rebels would dress a monster up like it’s a proper gent.” The other man said. Zade didn’t respond. “Don’t worry, lizard man.” continued the knife wielder. “We’re going to have a lot of fun with you. We ain't seen a beast man like you in these cells for a while y’see, so you’re kind of, umm, what’s the word for it Inho?” “The word is novelty, you bloody fool. He’s a novelty.” Zade gave them a moment, then spoke. “You know, if you were smart, you’d make a deal with me. In my waistcoat pocket is a rare treasure, acquired from an old wealthy man I befriended in Allaria. If you let me free, I’ll give you the treasure.” They assessed his words, then the guard who answered by Inho laughed. “You’re not smart enough to think we wouldn’t just take in anyway! Dumb beast.” The guard shoved an armoured hand into the waistcoat pocket, and Zade winced as he heard the oaf tear stitches. “This is a treasure? This ain't no treasure! Darek, does this look like a treasure to you?” “Nah, looks like a little metal beetle. I think he’s havin’ us on!” Zade loudly sighed. “The treasure is inside. You have to hold down the button on its belly, and it will open up.” The Guard held it close to the slit on his helmet so he could see, and pressed down on it with his large fingers. The small metal beetle clicked open, its wings flicking apart and it giving off a loud buzz. It shot off his finger in the opposite direction, flying right into Inho’s helmet. “First it moves until it stops,” muttered Zade to himself. “Then comes-” The Guard screamed in pain, his body convulsing as his wildly scrambled to remove his helmet. “-The electric discharge. Worked first time. Better than expected.” The man fell forward on to the table. Instantly Zade dove forward, his long jaw grasping the man’s belt from the side and ripping it off as he fell on to the floor. He tossed the belt - and attached loop of keys - down into his hands. Darek shouted out and reached for the Senjata clasped at his foreleg. Zade was quick with his hands, and had already freed his hands. Darek brought the barrel up towards Zade and fired, but Zade had already moved the weapon to the side, its round firing into the wall and bouncing off with an echoing clang. “So uncivilised.” Zade calmly remarked, as he wrenched the weapon from the Guard’s grip and slammed it into the side of his head. The man was dazed, and after several repeating blows the man fell. He left the cell, checking to see if the hallway was clear. After taking his belongings back, he ventured out, only to freeze in surprise as another door in the hall clicked and opened. If he was caught escaping, he wagered, they wouldn’t stay non-lethal like they did in the open city. The door opened, and a white garbed girl stepped out, her usually tidy demeanour now dishevelled from military interrogation. Her chesnut hair, usually tied back, was now a frizzy mass around her face. Her eye mask was gone, revealing her eyes and face. It had been a while since Zade had seen the Whisperer like this. “Zade!” she said with a cheerful smile. “You broke out too? How’d you do it?” “Tricked the guard with a robot insect, what about you?” “They neglected to check my blade scarf. Their helmets have a weak point in the neck. Lucky for me. Not so much for them.” The Whisperer left bloody footsteps as she caught up with him. “Let me remember to never make you irate.” he said dryly. The Whisperer winked playfully then skipped ahead. “Come on, let's break out our fr-” She stopped suddenly, seeing a peculiar door at the end of the corridor. Unlike the others, this door was bolted and barred shut, thick beams of steel crossed across it. Something dangerous must be kept behind this door, she reasoned. Interesting. Anya winced as the Guard threw another punch into her chest, crying out in pain as it connected. He wanted to break her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I knew some of the men you and your friends killed on the Gajah, you whore.” he hissed as she gasped for air. “Want to join them?” Anya replied, blood at her lip. The door burst open, Zade and the Whisperer entering. The Whisperer, upon seeing the Guard assaulting her friend, reflexively threw a long needle, catching him through the eye slit in his helmet. He fell back screaming and Zade unlocked her restraints. “Took you long enough.” she coughed. She smiled at her own words, wincing as Zade helped her up. The Guard went to pull the needle from his eye socket, but Anya was faster, calmly grabbing it and pushing it deeper. The Guard cried out, gurgled and then made no noise. She pulled it out and handed it back to the Whisperer, the tip stained scarlet. “....Keep it.” the Bard said. Anya retrieved her belongings, and they went to make two more rescues. ___________________________________________ Tyran stared in horror at his friend, tied to the chair. He thought she would be above the reach of these people, but he was wrong. And now her parents had been killed. What had he wrought? “I think she’s waking up.” said Vönte coldly. “Maybe if you give me your name, she’ll be spared more hurt.” Tyran didn’t answer. “Very well.” He gave the Princess a light slap on the cheek and she spluttered awake. Her eyes opened and she weerily saw Tyran, sitting across the table from her. “Tyran, don’t-” “Tyran, is it? Tyran what? I want answers!” The soldier slammed his metal fist on to the table. “Why would a boy like you risk his life to find me? How do you know…” He looked down at the girl in the chair. Her brown skin and short cut white hair gave her an unusual appearance, but she was royalty. Not even a Princess now, not since the death of her parents by his own command. “How do you know Queen Resma Seava?” Tyran sighed. The man capable of ordering the death of Resma’s parents was no doubt the same responsible the death of his father and his friend’s parents. He had fantasised this confrontation for many years, though he didn’t imagine he’d be as vulnerable as he was right now. “When the stars go out,” he began slowly. “The night is all that’s left.” “Who are you?” Vönte said impatiently. The door exploded open, the other four members of the Night Legion standing there. The Whisperer had her blade scarf ready, and swung it down in an arc, pulling down at the right moment. It landed right between his legs, shattering his bonds and nothing else. “That was dangerously close, Eluna.” Tyran said. “You mean Whisperer.” “Sorry, sorry." he held his hand out toward the surprised Captain. " Anyway, introductions. Vönte, Night Legion. Night Legion, Vönte.” “Is that Resma?!” Anya cried out in shock. Tyran didn’t answer, as darted forward to grab his sword on the table. Vönte was ready, stepping back and drawing a rapier from a scabbard at the hilt with an impressive speed. Tyran pointed his sword forward, his stance challenging his opponent. “My name is Tyran Noir. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” They clashed swords, but Vönte was stronger and more agile. Several parries passed and Tyran knew he couldn’t win, not right now. He heard shouting and footsteps approaching from the hallway. Meanwhile, Anya helped Resma out her chair, unravelling the chains at the back. “Anya, I’m so sorry, I-” “Don’t worry Princess. I’m not going to let you die. You’re named after my mother, I’m kind of indebted.” “Why Anya,” said Zade. “I’ve hardly seen you this cheerful before.” Zade, meanwhile, casually drew a revolver at Vönte. He waited for a clear shot, and the Captain stepped back, holding position for a single moment, he noticed too late that Zade had him lined up in his sights. Zade fired, and the Captain was thrown back. “We have to go now.” the sharpshooter commanded. Tyran considered confirming Zade’s kill with his sword, but saw the others leaving and hastily left with them. “Thanks for having my back, Zade." he muttered. "You’ve avenged our parents this day.” “No need to romanticise murder, Tyran.” They entered the hallway, with a dozen armed Guards approaching from one end. “What’s with that door?” asked Aldo, looking in the opposite direction of the guards towards the barred door the Whisperer saw earlier. “You know,” began Zade, reaching for something in his satchel. “I’m not one for hinging my life on chance, but there’s a first time for everything.” He pulled out a brass cylinder, turned one end and tossed it at the door. One end collided with the door and spider-like legs unfolded in an instant, fixing itself to the door. “Duck!” he shouted. They complied. The tub gave a hiss and exploded, the Night Legion diving to the ground just in time as dust and rubble exploded outwards. The guards shouted commands and orders, but sound of the explosion drowned it out. A blanket of dust settled, and the door was blown open. There was a moment of silence, the six outlaws on the floor but looking towards the doorway with fear and hesitation, hoping Zade’s gambit paid off. The Guards looked apprehensive, unwilling to approach whatever lay inside. A lone figure stepped calmly out. Aldo gasped in horror. He had, along with the others, heard stories growing up. Stories of adventure, monsters, quests and villains. Except ''their ''parents were the heroes of these stories, and their descriptions came from first-hand experience. A tall figure, clad in black armour, stepped into the hallway and stopped. No expression lay on their face, for they wore only a white mask, revealing nothing beneath. Endgame The black armoured figure stepped into the fray, their red cloak rippling slowly in the low breeze. Aldo stared in horror, and whispered one word. “Nosk.” The armoured figure didn’t respond. They swung an open palm, a panel in their armour clicking open and a flurry of blades arcing outwards. The guards at the end of the hallway shuddered and died as both their breastplates and hearts were pierced. There was a moment of silence as the Night Legion took in the situation, before the figure turned expressionlessly towards Aldo. “Children, it is nice to see you again.” There was a pause. Anya’s eyes widened, as the figure removed their mask with a clawed black metal hand. Underneath the white mask was another, this one bronze and rusted. All of them, even Resma, recognised her. “I’m sure you are all very confused,” said Galatea. “I will explain everything soon. For now, we must leave this dreadful place.” ___________________________________________ The seven of them ran through the compound. They found more iron-and-stone corridors, all lit by cold filament lamps. The prison facility was clearly not made with aesthetic in mind. “This is the Salvadon Military Compound,” explained Galatea, her red cape rippling as they retreated. “In the Inner Circle. Supplies delivered by Gajah at a dock on the north side. That will be our escape.” “What escape, Gal?” asked Tyran. He was both relieved to see his old family friend, but was suspicious of the circumstances of their rendezvous. “Why do we need to leave? Why are you dressed as Nosk?!” Her head twitched. Tyran wondered if she had been driven to madness in that cell. “I have been getting into character, so to speak. What is happening now has been planned for some time. What year is it now? By my father’s calendar, I believe we are in the year 8141. My, it has been a long time.” Cryptic, Tyran thought. He wished he lived in a world where people were able to give straight answers. ___________________________________________ Galatea led the Night Legion through the dark unknown, navigating with the calm ease that had always made her both trustworthy and unnerving. She was a robot, a machine woman, a creation of the world’s greatest villain Nosk! And yet she had stood side by side with the parents of the Night Legion when they thwarted his evil plans. Galatea left them, thought Anya. She left on a mission of grave importance and never came back. They had presumed her dead, but here she was, dressed as the man who built her. “If my mental estimations are correct, this doorway leads to the Gajah dock.” announced Galatea as they arrived at a large dark wooden door. “Children, you must follow my command. When we enter, soldiers are very likely going to attack. There is a counterattack on its way. Do not look back. I shall join you on the vessel shortly.” Without any time to object, Galatea threw an armoured fist into the door with mechanical strength. With a cacophonic crash, the door exploded outwards, shattering in a ripple like a stone dropped in a still pond. She was right, there were not only Gajah’s docked but Soldiers too, transporting crates of unknowable supplies from the Elephant-shaped frigates. “Run”. she reaffirmed. There was maybe one last second of quiet, confusing mutual silence between both sides. The Night Legion, bloodied and worn out from their venture, the still-weak Resma in her torn, muddied dress. And Galatea, dressed as an armoured Warlord after a five year disappearance. The soliders stood frozen in surprise. Then all hell broke loose. The six ran as commanded as a series of familiar pops of Senjata hurled bladed shurikens at them from every angle. Galatea kept back and they heard screams, as she claimed her first victim. Tyran worried that they might not all make it to the end of the docking bay. “Eluna - Shadowtongue maneuver!” cried out Anya, reaching the same conclusion as Tyran. The Whisperer spun, reaching into her pocket and throwing out a silk pouch into the air ahead of her. In the same moment, Anya flicked a knife straight at it, piercing it and trailing its contents through the air. Reacting with the air, the dust inside instantly gave off a billowing black smoke - except this time the knife dragged it through the air, creating a straight path of concealing smoke ahead of them. Galatea, keeping one of her three eyes on the children, dropped a guard to the floor. The man’s head was twisted completely round, his training no match for the cold mechanical strength Galatea possessed. Senjata blades punctured her armour but travelled no further - She suspected that the drugged blades would not affect her anyway. Suddenly, as she anticipated, a bolt of light hit the floor near her and incinerated a Soldier with a small explosion. “I thought you two would never arrive.” she mused. Two figures dropped from above, one in black and one in scarlet. “We had to eliminate some patrol guards who were on your tail up here,” said the woman in black. She opened her palm and shadows crawled up her cloak like a mass of insects, forming a sword in her hand. “It has been a while, Gal. Are you ready for what we have planned? You’ve dressed the part.” Three guards charged at them with swords, screaming battle cries. The woman pointed a finger and one of the men found himself frozen in place, his own shadow crawling up his legs. The figure in scarlet, meanwhile, cast a hand forward and threw another bolt of energy, catching the other two in an explosion. The air was thick with the smell of scorched metal and melted flesh. The figure gave no response to Galatea, his glowing yellow eyes betraying no emotion. He lept into the air suddenly, his red cloak torn open at the black as ugly mottled black feather wings spread open. The figure ascended, each beat of wings sounding like the heartbeat of an unholy monster. “This was never what was meant to become of us,” sighed the woman in black. “Gal, you need to go. Make sure my son sees a better life. Make sure we all do.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice, the shell of a woman who once had so much more to live for. Galatea nodded. “Goodbye, old friend.” she said nothing more, instead following after the Night Legion, who had just made it on to the Gajah amidst the chaos. ___________________________________________ “How do we pilot this damn thing?!” cried out Tyran. They were at what they assumed was the pilot’s controls, but there was little indication as to where they were to go. “Let me have a look!” bellowed Zade, who was nursing a sword wound he had taken to the side. He hauled himself up, and analysed a console of wheels and valves. “It’s not a vehicle as we know it,” he began. “I suspect it’s more like the Golems - Simple manufactured intelligence. We just need to find how to give it an order-” He found an iron switch, clamped down facing north. With a scaled claw he yanked it back and the Gajah gave a heave. “Where would we be without you?” Tyran laughed tiredly. His spirit, it seemed, would last longer than his body would allow. “Probably still stuck in that haunted Mead Hall, frying duck eggs for an eternity.” Anya frowned. “I thought we agreed not to mention the Mead Hall.” The Gajah turned on its massive steel legs, and they all saw, for the first time, exactly where they had been kept. The tower was huge, overlooking the large city of the the inner Citadel. The outer Citadel was beyond a huge stone wall further out. The tower was against the back of the wall, giving the Gajah direct access to the desert plains of Braze. The early morning sun was rising, casting a harsh light across the seemingly endless sands. “Where is Galatea?!” murmured an anxious Aldo. There was a crash as something landed on the vessel. they hurriedly left the cabin to see what it was. In the center of a splintered crate stood the black armoured Galatea. “There was a slight delay, but I managed to jump on board. To the cabin, children. we must discuss matters of the utmost importance.” ___________________________________________ The cabin was furnished with a polished wooden floor and steel furniture. Everyone except Galatea sat, verging in sleep out of pain and exhaustion. Resma, however, was passed out in the corner - Tyran having given her his cloak as a blanket to rest on. Galatea looked out the front window briefly, seeing a safe expanse of sand ahead of them. She faintly heard something in their wake, like a buzzing almost, but reasoned that there could be nothing that could be a threat to them at this point. They would have nowhere to run, but running was not on her agenda. “Six years ago,” the mechanical woman began, “the high families of Braze began a strike on Allaria in a successful takeover of the continent. The major powers of the continent were destroyed, including the City of Starhold. Every city fell, for Braze negated their magic warriors with Antimagic fields, the same with suppress magic within their own cities. Magical Constructs, however, are unaffected - Their armies of Titans were too much, even for the Star-Cleavers.” Galatea stopped for a moment, possibly in thought, possibly to pay respect. “Your parents instructed me to escape with the five of you so that you may live. But I left you…” “Why?” interrupted Aldo. “We had no-one else?” “...Because,” continued Galatea, “I discovered why I was built.” There was a silence. They all knew Nosk had built her, but they nor their parents never quite knew why. “I am built with the ability to replicate any skill I see. It was no mere twist of fate that led me to witness the greatest, most terrible display of skill the world has ever seen. I believe Nosk created me to carry on his work, and I am compelled to do so.” They gasped. Tyran stood up, hand instantly on his sword hilt despite being in no shape to fight. “What the Hell are you talking about Galatea?” She continued calmly. “I left you all to devise a plan. It has been five years, but I have accomplished what I set out to do. I knew how to make Nosk’s Fusion Core, the great undoer of timelines. but Nosk does not control my fate.” She clicked her fingers and they lit up with flames. “We are out of the range of the Citadel’s Antimagic field. Good.” “Speak clearly, dammit!” cried Anya. “I am tired of your riddles!” “Simply put,” responded Galatea, “I can create a doorway to the past, so that this can all be undone.” “What?” exclaimed Tyran. “Apsu be praised.” whispered Anya, tears in her eyes. “The scientific implications…” began Zade. The Whisperer smiled. Aldo said nothing at all. Resma snored a little. “Would it be safe?” asked Tyran. “Would you survive? I cannot calculate. But there is a chance.” she replied. “We would be creating a new timeline,” began Zade. “We would essentially be from an alternate future, not the true future if such a thing exists. Is it acceptable to take on such a crusade? Remember what our parents used to tell us…” “I know the mantra, Zade.” replied Tyran. “Accept the past, change your future. They learned that from Nosk himself, in a way.” The Whisperer suddenly laughed out loud, standing up with a flourish. She looked unhinged without her mask, her hair uncombed and free, with a devious smile on her lips. “It’s perfect! Don’t you see?!” Aldo raised an eyebrow at her. “We’re rewriting our parents rules, their legacy. They said to ‘Accept the past and change your future’. But we are not Star-Cleavers.” She span round on one foot, her arms out wide. “We’re amending the mantra: Accept the future, and change your past!” There was suddenly a series of echoing pings in the cabin, and one of the front windows cracked with a sharp noise. “...Does the Salvadon armory have access to flying vehicles?” enquired Zade, deadpan. Sure enough, they spotted something flit by the vehicle ahead of them. The cabin windows sloped downwards slightly, meaning they could not see above the vehicle to any extent. But they could see the desert plains, and shadows like enormous dragonflies flitting across its surface, swarming around the Gajah like flies around a festering corpse. “There is no time left-” began Galatea. “Do it!” Tyran shouted. There were more pings as they were fired upon, and Resma rubbed her eyes and awoke, Aldo filling her in. They heard a noise as something landed on the cargo bay. Galatea nodded and opened her arms. The air began to distort between her metal hands, and it gave birth to a spark. A light like they had never seen grew at her chest, a glimmer of something innately unknown to them unfurled itself into their mortal realm. The light grew, Galatea’s whole body shaking as it wrapped itself around her hands and pulled itself wider. Like a star that willed itself into existence it formed, blossoming in a rainbow of unknowable colours. “Find a way!” she cried out, an uncharacteristic hint of fear in her metallic voice. “Keep hold of each other!” Tyran opened his hand, and Anya held it gratefully. She did the same to The Whisperer, who linked with Zade, to Aldo and then to Resma. There was a banging as someone broke through a door somewhere behind them but the light grew wider. They stepped forward, and the light consumed them. There was suddenly silence. Then a scream. Tyran turned, seeing himself in the far end of a tunnel of starlight. But at the end was the cabin, and someone had entered as well. The light was almost overwhelming now, and Tyran was unable to stop the intruder. Vönte had followed, the gunshot on his chest having pierced armour under his coat. He grabbed Resma’s wrist with his mechanical arm, determined to catch up with his attempted killers. He shouted something, but the tunnel of light was both silent and also infinite in noise. Aldo’s eyes began to glow purple, and he focused on the Captain who ordered the death of their parents in the world they were quickly leaving. A knife of shadows formed itself in the air in front of him, its blade curved and cruel looking. He focused and the blade threw itself into Vönte’s shoulder, throwing him back into the white void. However, the force pulled Resma with him, who wrenched herself from his grip. The Captain and the Princess were both flung into the void, Aldo screaming in anguish as she left his grip. Her outstretched arm and silent cry for help froze in his mind as the white light swallowed them and thrust them into the unknown. ___________________________________________ Some other time… The five of them awoke in a grassy meadow. Aldo quietly sobbed, the image of Resma falling still present in his mind. A hand rested on his shoulder. “You did your best. We’ll find her. Don’t worry.” said an unusually compassionate Anya. They gathered themselves, The Whisperer tying back her hair and placing her mask to her face once again. Tyran, against all odds, still had his wide hat in his possession, which he gleefully popped on to his head. “Well, I can assume it worked - This definitely isn’t Braze, at the very least!” announced Tyran. Then he yawned and fell in a heap, snoring loudly. “We’ll find the Princess,” Aldo said to Anya, tears in his young eyes. “We’ll save our parents. We can start again. We’ll find a way.” ___________________________________________ Vönte awoke in a dry plain, disoriented. What had those damn kids done? They had broken out the most dangerous prisoner and now he’d been teleported to the middle of nowhere! In the distance, he saw a traveller’s caravan and horse, and set off after them. First things first, he needed to get back to Braze. Then he’d find this Tyran Noir and his friends, and kill every last one of them for making a fool out of him. He rubbed the cut at his shoulder where the kid had pulled some magic stunt on him. He definitely had work to do.